


All Points of the Compass

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Series: Compass Point [1]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (2003 2006 2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Directedverse, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-02
Updated: 2008-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Directed'verse story. Commodore Norrington sets off in search of a pirate, and learns a few things about love, loss, command, being commanded, and compromising in a variety of situations. Set just post-CotBP in the bondage-and-discipline universe next door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Points of the Compass

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a modified version of the Directedverse, where people primarily identify as and are sexually attracted to others based not on gender, but on dominance and submission. In the Age of Sail modification to the rules, women are generally excluded from the dom/sub dynamic. Universe based on the one used by [](http://helenish.livejournal.com/profile)[**helenish**](http://helenish.livejournal.com/) in her Stargate: Atlantis story [Take Clothes Off As Directed.](http://helenish.livejournal.com/144338.html)

Commodore James Norrington hated parties, especially ones where he had to smile at people who were making very polite and unpleasant comments. But at a wedding, especially one's own wedding, especially to two of the most attractive people on the island, _especially_ when one of them was the governor's daughter... well. One had to keep up appearances, even when the party guests were quickly stripping away the bliss of the day.

He waved off another couple of insincere well-wishers and glanced around the reception for a friendly face. He saw Will and Elizabeth standing, hands clasped, near Elizabeth's father. Will caught his eye across the distance and saw his expression, smirked, and disentangled himself to join James instead.

"You look to have had an excess of company," Will said quietly when he reached James' side.

James looked around quickly to make sure nobody was in earshot before replying, "The next person who expresses their surprise at how _gracious_ and _self-sacrificing_ I'm being at taking you both in is going to find themselves bathed in sherry."

Will chuckled, and they both stepped closer to the wall of the house, out of the way of the crowds. "How long do we have to stay?" Will asked.

"Long enough to make Elizabeth's father happy, at least," James said. He looked over. The governor was beaming at his guests and his daughter over the punchbowl. James turned away before he could be included in the general bonhomie. He drifted a hand up to the collar around Will's neck and said softly, "And as soon as possible thereafter, how about you wrap this around my throat and bugger me until I choke?"

Will's grin was sharp and wicked, turned like a sword on the general throng of Port Royal society. "I believe I could work up some enthusiasm for that plan, _sir._"

"Excellent." And because he could, now, he bent to kiss his new eromenos, and gave him a swat on the arse to send him back to Elizabeth. Because he could, and bugger Port Royal society for a lark if they continued to care.

* * *

_Earlier..._

* * *

_There are two kinds of men,_ went the saying. The least filthy version ended, _those who lead, and those who follow._

James Norrington had been born to lead. He'd known it all his life, confirmed it on joining the navy, in rough-and-tumble sport with the other midshipmen. Men like him captained ships, led fleets, armies; ruled towns, colonies, nations. Married beautiful women and lived happily ever after.

Setting the Dauntless to sail was a task that took the full attention of her officers, but Norrington made time to stop at the governor's residence before they cast off on their search for the Black Pearl. Groves and Gillette had taken preparations almost forcibly out of his hands, in any case; they'd together decided he was too distracted from his fiancee's outrageous actions the day previous to work. Incredible. Near-mutinous. More astute than he would have given either of them credit for.

Governor Swann met him in the front hall, hands drawing expressive lines in the air and face set in an expression of patient suffering. "Commodore," he said, "good, I'm very glad to see you. Perhaps you can talk some sense into my daughter where I have failed."

Norrington tried to keep his face impassive. "I'd rather hoped you could have accomplished that in my absence, sir."

"Unfortunately, no." Swann clasped his hands together, sighed. "She seems to be determined."

Norrington had his hands linked behind his back, and found himself grinding his fingers together painfully. Determined, Elizabeth was that. Determined to ignore the natural order of things, to turn the world upside-down because it ill-suited her as it was.

Well, if any woman could.

"Commodore, I hate to suggest something this indelicate," Swann said, "But... perhaps some sort of compromise could be reached. If you suggested it..."

He felt himself flushing, and couldn't meet the governor's eyes. He knew exactly what sort of compromise Swann meant. "I... don't believe that Elizabeth is the type to compromise," he said, surprised at how calm he sounded. "As for myself... it would not be... impossible."

Not impossible, no. A commodore's salary could easily keep a wife, a household, and a bit on the side without any trouble. But after Elizabeth's outburst it would be altogether too obvious _why_ he had done it. Indulgences were one thing, but this...

"Yes, well," Swann said, uncomfortably. "Elizabeth is waiting in the sitting room. I'll leave you two to talk."

She was standing at the window when he was shown in, looking down the hillside toward the sea. She turned at the sound of his footsteps, held her hands clasped behind her loosely. Her gown was a soft sea-blue and her hair, bleached golden by the sun, had been pulled up into a knot at the nape of her neck.

"You look lovely," he said, when he met no answers in her eyes.

"James," she said.

"I had to see you, before I left," he said, stepping forward, suddenly terrified that if he didn't say anything, she'd close herself off completely and he'd lose his chance. "There wasn't an opportunity--yesterday."

"Yes." She looked pained, suddenly. "I didn't mean to be cruel to you, James. But I could not do anything else."

He took a deep breath. "You wish to be released from our engagement, then."

"I don't see any other way."

"Elizabeth..." Closer again, as if by proximity he could keep her. "Elizabeth, I--I don't just desire you as a wife. I care for you--"

"James--"

"And I would be willing--that is, if you would accept--" he felt his pride stinging, forced it aside. "I could take Will into my--our household. It would mean you could be together, you could still inherit--"

"James, please," Elizabeth said, taking his hands, squeezing. "You don't understand. I _can't._"

He stared at her. "Can't..."

"I can't be your wife--" she paused. "I can't be _a_ wife." She looked away, obviously trying to weave into words a thought, an idea for which she had no expression.

"The thought of matrimony holds no joy for you?" He kept his tone deliberately light, unable to see the shape of her thoughts.

She laughed, sadly; smiled up at him through pity. "James, I don't believe I'm meant to submit to any man."

There was a cold feeling in his stomach, like watching her plummet off the wall into the sea, falling away from him. "I'm sorry?"

"If men," she said, "have types, categories, divisions, then why not women, as well?" Her eyes were dark, flashing; demanding. "Why can we not desire the same things that men do?"

Now suddenly it was he who was falling, the dark waters closing over his head and freezing his blood to ice. "You mean... to possess, or to be possessed?" He shook his head. "But women don't--"

"_I_ do." She stared at him until he looked away. "James, I've known what I wanted ever since I met Will when we were eight. I didn't have words for it at the time, but believe me--I cannot change my own nature, and if I married you, it would mean living a lie for both of us." He heard her voice hitch as she finished, "And after all that you've done for me, I have no wish to do that to you."

"Ah," he said.

She was silent for a long moment. "I'm sorry."

"But quite determined," he observed.

"Yes."

He took a breath. "You deserve a better reply than I can give you now," he said, looking up to meet her gaze again. "Please, I--I ask that you do me the favor of waiting, until I return, to break our engagement?" He waited until she nodded, hesitantly, before continuing, "We'll speak again on my return, and if we cannot come to some agreement, some understanding... I'll not try to hold you."

Her expression held a calm understanding of the favor he was doing her. "Thank you."

He searched for something else to say, found nothing. "Until I return, then," was all he could answer, and "Farewell."

* * *

"We're set," Groves said when Norrington came on board; "What's our heading?"

"Isle de Muerta," he answered with half a mind; he surveyed the bustle of activity on the Dauntless' deck reflexively and found it good. "Sparrow and his crew will undoubtedly want a crack at the uncursed half of the treasure, so with luck we'll find them in the surrounding waters." Groves nodded, went to see to the helm.

He felt better when they were out of the bay, finally on the open ocean. The rhythm of the waves under the belly of the ship, the ordered movements of the men, the shift of the wind and the excitement of the entire crew at starting another journey, though that would swiftly settle, no doubt, into grumbling at having to leave port so soon after their last excursion.

In his stateroom, he stared at charts for the waters around the hidden island and tried to plot Sparrow's likely heading with the treasure, assuming they weren't incredibly lucky and managed to catch him there. But his mind refused to focus, and adamantly refused to try and think like Sparrow in order to outwit him.

Think like Sparrow, as though the world and all its rules were just so many old rags to be tossed aside. Damned pirate.

He made a list of likely ports, crossed out half of them, rewrote them again in a different order. Started a letter to Elizabeth; burned it. Started a letter to Governor Swann; tore it into pieces. Started a letter of resignation to the Admiralty and covered that in an angry caricature of Sparrow hanging by his feet over a sea monster, confusedly checking his compass and ignoring the sharp teeth about to close on his head.

A tray of food clattered onto his desk, and he realized simultaneously that he'd been lost in thought and that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He looked up to see Gilette standing over him with an eyebrow raised and a disapproving expression on his face.

"Oh, I think it's rather good," Norrington said, planting his pen back in the inkwell.

Gilette sighed and came around the desk to look. "It is a good likeness," he admitted. "Now eat something."

He chuckled, set the paper aside and pulled the tray over to him. "How are we sailing?"

"Smooth and with a good wind," Gilette said, perching on the corner of his desk. "If this keeps up we'll be there in five days."

The first day out of port the food was generally excellent; today was no exception. He ate while Gilette leaned over his chart and made estimates, gave discouraging guesses on the Black Pearl's location. Gilette was a good man, had a good head on his shoulders; it was almost a shame he'd never advance further than lieutenant. But men like him couldn't command a ship.

"What we have to be prepared for," Norrington said when he'd pushed away the remains of his meal and Gilette had finished his report and his analysis, "is that Sparrow is going to do something completely insane. Absolutely. He'll... cut around us and head back to Port Royal, or something equally mad."

"That would be crazy," Gilette said. Norrington smirked at him until he shook his head and sheepishly added, "Of course, sir. Sorry. It's just... one can't train oneself to think like a pirate."

"Of course not. Or at least not without several blows to the head." He held up a hand and warned, "And you do not have my permission to test that theory. On _anyone._"

"No, sir, of course not," Gilette said, smiling wickedly and staring into the middle distance. "Wouldn't dream of it." He held his thoughtful grin for a moment more, then turned to James and asked, "Is there anything else, sir?"

He considered Andrew's expression for a moment before saying, "Lock the door."

There--that, the way Andrew's eyes always widened slightly, his lips parted. Andrew nodded and slipped off his desk to his task while James leaned back slightly in his chair, settling into a more comfortable position. When he returned Andrew slid to his knees without being told, nimble fingers attending to the fastenings on James' breeches.

Casually, James pulled Andrew's hat off and tossed it aside, unplaited his queue and ran his fingers through the freed hair. Andrew smiled up at him and then took the head of his cock in his mouth.

James let himself relax, close his eyes, and enjoy himself. Afterwards, Andrew rested his head on James' thigh for a moment, getting his breath back.

"Thank you," James said, and the adoring smile he got in response made him feel a twinge of guilt. It was good to have a favorite--it kept away unwanted solicitations, for both Andrew and himself, and he genuinely liked the man. But he always felt he should be somehow doing more.

"Do you need anything else?" Andrew asked when he'd put James' uniform back in order.

"Stay a moment?" James asked after a second's thought. He ran his fingers through Andrew's hair again. Andrew nodded, surprised, then stood and started tucking his queue back into order.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Andrew asked, as James stood, leaned on the desk next to him. "You've been unusually distracted. Groves is worried."

"Yes, well, he can stop mothering me and keep mothering the ship; he's doing a good job of it." That got a smile. "I'll be fine when we get closer."

Gilette glanced down at the map, up again. "But that's not what you wanted to talk about."

"No, it was... a thought." He looked down, then caught Andrew's eye and deliberately leaned forward, just a bit, and he had his eromenos' full attention again, just like that. "I just wonder--what does it feel like?"

"What?" Andrew's eyes were caught, his breathing shallow. James smiled to himself, then leaned over to press his hand gently against Andrew's groin, listened with pleasure to the breathy moan wrung out of him. "Oh. I. Sir."

"This desire you feel, to be--" he curled his fingers, experimentally, got another moan. "--commanded." Andrew whined in the back of his throat, a rising noise that cut off in a choked sound as he fought to keep his hips still.

"Sir," Andrew pleaded, "I can't think of an answer while you're--"

"You managed it when I was helping you study for your exams," James said innocently, keeping up the slow motion of his wrist. "And didn't it help your nerves?"

"Ha! Yes!" Andrew laughed, "Until I was terrified that I'd imagine that grin of yours and disgrace myself in front of the entire board... sir..."

James chuckled, then pulled away to Andrew's frustrated whine and leaned back on his desk. "Honestly, though, I am curious. What's it like?"

Andrew pouted at him for a moment, then frowned, giving the matter real thought. "I... it's difficult to put into words," he finally said. "I mean, I don't know anything different. It's what I want."

"Have you always?"

He shrugged. "As long as I've thought about it, I suppose."

James was about to nod and let it go when Andrew suddenly said, "It's not as though--I mean, it's not just about service, it's about how when, when everything is right, it's as though that's the only time I'm able to truly be myself." He looked up, a strangely vulnerable expression on his face. "It's like it's all backwards. Bondage is freedom. I can't be myself without being told what to do." He grinned, shyly. "Besides, it _does_ feel rather good."

"I see." James tried to see, anyway, then gave up on trying to understand immediately and filed the information away to think about later. He smiled down at Andrew, then grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him backward, roughly, pinning him to his desk. "So. What was that about feeling rather good?"

"Oh, sir," Andrew said happily. And then, a little while later, "... sir!"

* * *

Norrington had been prepared for any number of insane plans that Sparrow could have come up with on the journey; he hadn't been prepared for the island to have disappeared.

"Are you certain these are the co-ordinates?" he asked, slightly despairingly.

Groves nodded, as puzzled as he was. "Indeed, sir. I don't have an explanation."

Norrington looked down into the empty blue-green depths beside the Dauntless and scowled, uselessly. Then stopped scowling and asked, "Groves, do we have any men aboard who can swim?"

It turned out that Gilette could swim, as a matter of fact. And that he looked fantastic dripping wet, what clothes he was still wearing translucent and sticking. He squeezed water out of his hair and reported, "There's nothing down there, sir. Not even coral."

"Well." Norrington sighed, waited until Groves was done helping Gilette with his coat. "Disappearing islands or no, our goal remains the same. Where was that list?"

They were under weigh not more than minutes later, sailing to their first target; possibly driving them miles further away from the Black Pearl. It was not with a happy mood that Norrington took his dinner alone and then paced the deck of the Dauntless, watching as the sky dimmed to darkness.

As he passed the lieutenants' quarters on his way back to his own, he heard the muffled sounds of two people attempting to entangle themselves in each other's affections. He sighed and shook his head. One of the lieutenants had dragged one of the mids in, obviously; it was a bad idea to let that sort of thing get out of hand, but he wasn't going to chide anyone for "knot-tying practice" tonight. It wasn't until he was a step past the door that he heard Gilette's voice saying, "God, Theo, we _can't--_"

James was actually shocked enough that he stopped walking. It wasn't that he _wanted_ to eavesdrop, _wanted_ to hear Groves reply, "I know, I know, but do you know how you _looked,_ dripping wet on the deck? I wanted to devour you right there..."

There was a part of James, he realized through the wind-rushing noise in his head, that wanted to take up his sword, kick the door down, and carve Theodore Groves into very small and pleasingly asymmetric pieces. There was a list of reasons he shouldn't do such a thing, of course. Andrew would be upset. He'd get blood on his uniform. He'd get blood all over the lieutenants' quarters. He'd have to find a new first lieutenant, and that was much more trouble than it sounded like. He managed quite an impressive list of reasons--even tossing in _he considered--or used to consider--Groves a friend as well as a fellow officer_\--by the time he reached his own quarters and was leaning rather heavily against the locked door and staring blankly at the ceiling.

Well, then. Groves and Gilette. Theodore and Andrew.

How utterly depressing.

Well, there were rational reasons this might have happened, James told himself as he started pacing. Andrew was proud, and their current relationship smacked of currying favor with a superior officer. James was getting married, theoretically, and hadn't made any overt offers of expanding on their current relationship; in fact, he realized, he hadn't really paid Andrew much attention at all when they weren't at sea together. Friends on land, bedmates on the ocean; it was customary, he supposed, but not exactly fair.

And he was really more angry that neither of them had _said_ anything than at Andrew for leaving him. There was a clear sign that he'd better take his hurt pride, let Andrew go, and focus that vengeance-swearing anger on a more sensible target. Jack Sparrow, for instance.

James eventually fell asleep. A series of unhelpful dreams later, he awoke. He scrubbed his face, dressed, remembered the exact state of his personal life, made faces and decided to concentrate on his duties as an officer.

Breakfast showed up while he was concentrating, with Gilette supporting it. James waited until Gilette had actually set the tray down before asking calmly, "This thing between you and Groves--is it serious?"

Gilette twitched in shock, rattling the tray; he stared at James with such unguarded terror that James had to break his resolution and give the poor man at least a look of reassurance.

"Sir... I..." Gilette stammered.

"I would like to think," James said, "that I have your measure well enough to believe that you wouldn't break _our_ understanding for something that was _not_ serious."

Gilette finally took a deep breath, looked down, and nodded.

"Sit down before you fall down," James ordered gently. There was a seat in front of his desk; Gilette lowered himself into it, still looking down at nothing. James sighed and dragged his own chair over to that side of the desk.

"I wish you'd said something earlier," James finally said, when Andrew had been silent for another minute.

That got a response. "For my part, sir, it was... quite sudden." He took a shaky breath. "He confessed his feelings, and I found..."

"I see," James said.

"I didn't mean--sir, I meant to tell you--we hadn't meant to do anything until we'd returned home," Andrew said miserably.

"Andrew," James said quietly, "I know a thing or two about falling in love." He smiled reassuringly until Andrew finally relaxed, a bit.

"Thank you, sir."

James nodded, then stood and rested his hand on Andrew's shoulder. "I release you from any obligations to me," he said formally. "Now, go tell Theodore he doesn't have to worry about me having him whipped, all right?"

"Sir, yes sir," Andrew said, standing. He smiled, then grinned giddily when James clapped him on the back.

"And Andrew?" James said before the man had made it to the door. He waited until he had his attention again, then added, "_Don't_ tell the midshipmen, all right? There are some things I'm just not prepared to deal with."

Andrew grinned again, knowingly. "Aye-aye, sir."

* * *

Groves and Gilette tried to be subtle, the rest of the way to Puerto Plata, but of course they were young, and in love, and word leaked out sometime in the first fifteen minutes.

Norrington had to turn down three propositions, covert and not-so-covert, on the first day. He had his reasons; all the mids on the Dauntless were under seventeen, and sleeping with men that young was usually a mistake. If nothing else, one was expected then to occasionally hold a conversation with them.

When they reached port, there hadn't been any sign of the Black Pearl, and the men's spirits were drooping. Norrington sent Groves (who spoke Spanish, albeit badly) to negotiate with what passed for authorities this far from Santo Domingo, and returned with enough goodwill to allow everyone a day's shore leave.

He caught Groves and Gilette before they could vanish. "Here," he said, "I know you two have plenty you want to do today, but tonight let's meet up and I'll buy you both a drink."

Groves stared at him for a moment, then smiled shyly. "Yes, let's--thank you, sir."

Norrington waved them off, then set out on his own errands. Makework, mostly, wandering around town to pass the time; he bought more ink and sealing wax, and a few bottles of brandy that had been through probably a few illegitimate hands before finding their way to the shop. He sent a boy back with his purchases and strolled alone through the sunset-lit streets. It was getting dark; time to head back to the Dauntless and meet with Theodore and Andrew.

Something moved sharply in an alley to his left.

Frowning, Norrington stopped and tried to make out shapes in the shadows. Whatever was there had looked to be man-height, though that could have been a trick of the dimness. He stepped closer.

Was that a figure in the shadows? It was probably nothing. Probably none of his business. A hand on his sword, he stepped around a pile of boxes and into the dark.

In the instant before his eyes could adjust someone grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward, off-balance, and then he was pinned against the wall with his hands next to his head and one Captain Jack Sparrow was grinning at him from much too close proximity.

"You--" Norrington sputtered.

"Commodore," Sparrow said. Then he leaned in and kissed him.

For a moment, James was too shocked to do anything. And then Sparrow leaned forward and ground his hips into James' and the bolt of sensation and confusion that shot through him left him stammering even after Sparrow pulled his mouth away.

"Thought so," Sparrow said, grinning, and pulled his hands back.

James gaped at him, shocked still, and after a moment Sparrow said, "Don't worry, love, there are some things I don't take unless offered." He leaned forward again, brushed James' lips with his own a second time, then said, "Look for me in Santo Domingo if you're still interested." And with a tip of his hat, he stepped into the lengthening shadows and was gone.

James' hands were still pressed against the wall behind him, sweat prickling on brick. When he brought them down, they were shaking.

The walk back to the Dauntless was a blur. Groves and Gilette were stunned when he told them he'd actually seen Sparrow, in town, but they organized a search and got the Dauntless ready to sail to look for the Black Pearl in the surrounding waters. Norrington delegated a few more tasks, walked back to his quarters, and collapsed on his bunk staring at his hands.

Sparrow had just... kissed him.

There, there was one thing he could focus on, one thing he could definitely recall. Sparrow had kissed him, and he hadn't objected. Aloud. Coherently. He certainly objected now, now that he was in his right mind. James put his hands to his lips and thought very hard about how much he objected to being pinned to a brick wall in a dark alley by Sparrow's hands and lips and legs and--

Oh, God. He wasn't objecting at all, really.

He took a ragged breath, then another. He hadn't been able to bring himself to resist. He'd been frozen, not by shock, but by desire.

No. That was impossible. James stood, started pacing. He was suggesting--he was thinking of suggesting that he'd actually enjoyed the position that Sparrow had put him in because he was--

He had stopped pacing, was staring at the wall with his hands clenched into fists. He forced himself to relax his hands, took a deep breath.

The... tendency that he was describing, in his mind, the shape and weight of the thing he was admitting to--that could not possibly describe him. He'd always been the assertive one, always known his position, always been able to lead--how could he now be so changed that the entire compass of his life was slipping away?

His life, his career, his duty--everything rested on who he was, his ability to command. Without that...

There was a knock on his door. Groves' voice. "Sir?"

Norrington took a deep breath, then another, then opened the door. "Lieutenant?"

Groves saluted, wearily. "No sign of him, sir, or the Pearl. But we're ready to sail, if you think we should chase him..."

Chase him. Norrington closed his eyes briefly, then said, "Yes. Take us east around the island."

"You think he's heading to Santo Domingo?"

He smiled, though it felt like something else. "I have a suspicion."

* * *

The authorities in Santo Domingo were much less happy about a British warship being moored off the coast, but there was very little they could do about it. They hadn't seen a flicker of the Black Pearl's sails on their journey, and Norrington was starting to wonder if Sparrow had just been leading him on.

"We can't spend too long here," Groves said thoughtfully.

"Yes, you're right," Norrington agreed. "Go see if you can keep them from cheating us blind on supplies."

He had a change of civilian clothes; he tried not to think too hard about what he was doing when he changed out of his uniform. Gilette met him on the deck and raised a supercilious eyebrow. "Going ashore, sir?"

Norrington gave him his best I-know-what-I'm-doing look in response and straightened his cuffs. "People in this town are highly unlikely to talk about ships they've seen come in with a British officer in the room, even if they think he doesn't understand Spanish."

"Ahh." Gilette looked moderately impressed for a moment, then concerned. "You don't have to go yourself, sir."

"Groves and I are the only ones who speak the language respectably, and he has to see to arrangements here," James said quickly. "I don't plan on asking any untoward questions, just listening for a few hours and seeing what I can learn."

"All right, sir." Gilette followed him into the boat, sighed. "I'll trust you to know what you're doing, but--take care out there."

James had, honestly, very little idea what he was doing.

He chose an establishment a ways off the row of inns and public houses that catered to sailors right off the dock. There was a mermaid on the sign, and conversation inside was a constant murmur that didn't pause when he stepped in. He took a seat in the corner, smiled at the waitress, and ordered rum in Spanish that he hoped wouldn't raise too many eyebrows. The waitress either had heard worse accents than his or was a very good actor.

James sat back and listened when his drink came, sipping occasionally and letting the sound wash over him. At first it was like being underwater, hearing nothing but noise, but he started picking out words, phrases, conversations. Mostly nothing. Who was cheating whom, lying women, lying men. Much as you would hear in any common room filled with men who had been at sea.

Just as he was starting to relax and think he might have an uneventful evening, the door swung open and Captain Jack Sparrow swaggered into the room.

Sparrow spoke Spanish, of course he did; he flirted with the waitress, and winked at several of the men, and leaned on the bar to order a bottle of the same rum that had been heavily watered in James' glass. He drifted almost aimlessly before settling as if by accident in the chair across from James at the table.

"Fancy meeting you here," Sparrow said, grinning.

James found he was gripping his glass so hard his fingers hurt. "Sparrow," he murmured.

"It's Jack, under the circumstances. If there are those circumstances." Jack raised his eyebrows and rattled the bottle around on its base.

"James," James said, almost involuntarily.

"Oh, good," Jack said. "C'mon, then."

The room above the tavern was clean, and quiet, and there was a bed with a sturdy frame in the corner. Jack held up a hand when James stepped inside, waited until he closed the door before saying, "Now, there are some rules we'll be keeping to, and if you don't like 'em you can turn around and leave."

James hesitated, nodded, with his hand still on the door's handle. "Go on."

"You'll do what I say, that's a given," Jack said, counting off on his fingers. "And I won't do anything that leaves marks or scars or lets anyone guess what you've been up to. And no screaming your head off, and I'll stop if you say no and mean it. Right?"

His mouth was dry. He let go the door. "Right."

"Good. Strip." Jack turned away, started poking around the bed. James watched him, stunned at the curtness of the order. "There's got to be something around here... I said clothes off."

James started, then began removing his coat, his shirt. Jack had found a skein of rope by the bed and was unwinding it thoughtfully. "Not bad," he was muttering. "Not bad, not as good as this stuff I found in Shanghai once, silk as thin as your fingers and could hoist a man's weight. You naked yet?"

His trousers slipped from his fingers, and he worked with numb fingers on his underclothes. "Almost..."

"Good." Jack waited until he had his boots and his socks off, then grabbed him by the shoulder. "Hold still," he ordered, then started looping the rope around him, crisscrossing his chest and wrapping around his arms. James could smell sweat and tar and... soap, surprisingly, when Jack reached across his chest to pull the line taut. The knots around his wrists didn't feel like any he was used to tying himself; the ones he could see were neat, even, unfamiliar.

"All right," Jack said, tucking the ends of the rope away. "How does that feel? Fingers all right, not too tight?"

James tried to flex his arms. They were crossed behind his back, pulled tight; he couldn't move at all. Couldn't--he opened his mouth to protest, closed it, shook his head. "I--" Oh, God, he was--

Jack chuckled, reached out and wrapped a hand around James' sudden hardness. "Well, it's not too bad, then," he said as James gasped for breath. Then he snagged the rope where it crossed James' chest and pulled him toward the bed. "Here, let's get you where I can see you."

His knees were weak. He could feel a strange, terrifying compulsion, a desire for what he knew not racing through his veins. Jack was leading him like a bridled colt, and he couldn't do anything about it; couldn't fight his own weakness and the secure knots on his arms. He sat heavily on the bed, looked up at Jack with a feeling of helpless anticipation.

"Hmm," Jack said, smiling at his expression and lazily unlacing his shirt. He leaned down and pressed his lips to James', pulled back when James leaned forward, leaving him gasping. "Eager, aren't you."

James sucked air between his teeth and forced himself to stay silent. Jack grinned, then pulled his shirt off with a flourish.

It didn't surprise him that Jack's body bore the scars of a life on the other side of the law; signs of close brushes with other pirates and agents of the government. It did surprise him that Jack was beautiful, even so. Lithe, lean; muscles wiry from a lifetime at sea. Graceful, too, despite his normal off-kilter strut. Gorgeous, completely naked--and now he was staring at Jack's cock.

Which was about the moment that James realized that he was really here, tied up in a Spanish inn at the mercy of the pirate he'd been sent to capture, and a flash of agonizing desire rushed through him like floodwater and left him gasping for breath.

"You're certainly ready for something," Jack said, pushing his fingers through James' hair. "C'mon, let's see how you use that mouth of yours."

James looked up to meet Jack's gaze and opened his mouth.

As soon as he tasted the tang of sweat and musk he knew this was different. He'd done this sort of thing before, a number of times, including one memorable afternoon when he'd had Andrew tied up for four solid hours of teasing. But that was the other side of the world from feeling Jack's fingers solid in his hair, his slick rod sliding over James' tongue and into the back of his throat. He gagged once, and Jack pulled back slightly, shortened his strokes, let James start working his tongue as much as he could. Every stuttered breath Jack took made James' prick ache in sympathy.

Much too soon, Jack pulled away, took a half-step back from the bed. "Lie down," he ordered, short of breath. "Let me see you."

It was difficult to lie back properly with his arms bound as they were, and James had to wriggle sideways to get the rest of the way onto the bed. When he looked up, Jack was staring at him, completely serious for a wonder.

Jack trailed his fingers up James' thigh, then said softly, "You're gorgeous, you know that?"

_No-I-never-anyone-said-what-you-think-so?_ flooded into James' throat, leaving him flushed, shaking his head. He'd never been in this position before, never been the one desired like this. The world was upside-down.

Jack crawled onto the bed, leaning over him. Then he was kissing him, again, hot and possessive and--James was moaning, anguished, wanting more and closer and anything at all Jack wanted to do to him--

He hitched a breath when Jack pressed his legs up and apart, settling his prick in the cleft between James' legs. "You done this before?"

"I--not for years," he said. Jack was pressing forward, pinching--ah! "I was a mid, we were--decided the other way 'round was better--oh--"

And Jack was being gentle, inexorable, patient, unyielding, until finally with a grunt he slid forward and James threw back his head at the searing pushing feeling, the sudden sensation of succumbing. With tiny, patient movements Jack pushed further in, time measured in gasps and whimpers, until their hips were locked together, Jack's eyes seeking him out, burning.

Jack barely moved, on reaching that point, every tiny adjustment outlined with friction. He balanced himself on one hand and wrapped the other around James' cock, and James nearly lost control right then.

"Come on, then" Jack said, pushing harder, starting to move his hips further, faster, sharp thrusts that started in pain and ended in ecstasy. "I want to see what happens when you're completely gone--" and then he leaned down and whispered in James' ear, "--commodore."

And that, THAT, the final reminder of how far he'd fallen, that did it. He could hear himself, hear the noises he was making as a flash of something too powerful to be called pleasure ignited him. He was incinerating with bright shooting sparks of shame and desire and release and impossible bliss, and he didn't care what happened next, didn't care about anything but this moment forever.

He couldn't do anything but breathe, but he yelped when Jack pulled out of him. He was rolled onto his side, the knots on his wrists untied. It startled him to move his own arms again. Jack curled up beside him on the bed, dropping the rope on the floor.

James looked at him, the wicked smile he was sporting. "You didn't..."

Jack chuckled. "I'm good. Seems like you got enough for the both of us, eh?"

James smiled back, thinly, then had to look away before he said anything, because suddenly his stomach was curdling with revulsion and he thought anything he did now would be regrettable.

"Oh, here, now what's this all about?"

Jack was propped up on an elbow, looking down at him. James kept his expression still and said with as little heat as possible, "You've ruined my life."

Jack just raised an eyebrow. "That's a fine thing for a man who was just literally screaming in pleasure to be saying, mate."

"What do I do?" James demanded, digging his elbows back into the bed to sit up, at least slightly. "I can't go back. You've..." he shook his head.

"Can't go back to what?" Jack looked honestly confused. "'Cause if you've got a belief against capturing and hanging what men have given you untold amounts of pleasure, I can't say I'm too upset at the situation."

James growled, frustrated. "Don't you understand? Men like... like _me,_" he forced himself to say, "don't command squadrons. Don't captain ships. I don't--" he shook his head again.

"Ohhh," Jack said. "I see."

When he didn't continue, James reluctantly asked, "See what?"

"See, this is your problem." Jack poked him in the chest. "You're still caught up in thinking that a man can only ever be one thing. A pirate _or_ a good man. A servant _or_ a master. A buggerer, or..." he trailed off, looked confused for a second, "or someone who likes being--anyway. What you fail to realize, commodore, is that men can be plenty of different things, all rolled up in one."

James stared at him, trying to catch his meaning.

Jack sighed. "Supposing for an instant that the Royal Navy doesn't give promotions to men based on them having a nice arse, which by the way yours is. You have to suppose then that you are, in actuality, quite good at being the most feared pirate hunter ever to captain a ship, and thus you have to admit that if nothing else, you are good at what you do."

"But I--"

"And I assume," Jack continued, "that being the domineering type, you've had plenty of experience with the other side of this equation." He waited until James nodded, then said, "Given your general honesty when dealing with people, I refuse on my word as a pirate to believe that you'd be able to continue with that practice if you didn't enjoy it. At least a little."

James' mind finally caught up with at least one thing that Jack was saying. "You just paid me a compliment."

"Yes." Jack frowned. "Actually, a mite more than one."

"At least three of them, if I'm counting."

"All that and the sex besides, and I didn't even get to rub off." Jack looked suspiciously at him. "You obviously inspire madness."

"So that's why you're being nice to me," James said, smirking faintly. "I wondered."

Jack tsked. "You're not listening to a word of mine, are you."

James wrapped his arm under Jack's body and pulled him down on top of him, then snaked his hand around Jack's cock. "Sorry," he said. "Busy."

It was much easier to listen to the whimpers Jack started making than try and reconcile what he'd been saying with the world as he knew it. James felt Jack tense and shudder against him, and wondered what he was going to do come morning.

* * *

It was not the most difficult thing in the world to return to the Dauntless, to put his uniform back on, to nod at Groves and Gilette and listen to the rhythm and routine of getting the ship under weigh. He'd been doing it every day for years. Groves took his silence as an indicator of frustration with the hunt and mercifully kept everyone out of his way.

_Physically,_ James felt... fine, well, mostly fine. He could sit, anyway, and the rope burns on his wrists and shoulders were more of am occasional reminder than a constant torment. Other than the bitter certainty that he was one word away from exposing himself as a deviant and a fraud and losing his command, commission, and reputation in one fell swoop everything was perfectly normal.

He ordered them back to Port Royal. He didn't think he could stand to look on the Black Pearl even if they did find her.

Which was why he was more anxious than excited when "Sail ho!" rang down from the crow's nest, and he pulled out his spyglass for a look.

White sails. A mercy.

..._mostly_ white. He picked out details as they closed the distance. Patched sails, slack in the rigging, a ship far too loosely maintained to be even a poor merchantman.

"Not the Pearl," he confirmed to Groves, "but I do believe we have a pirate vessel on our hands."

Groves grinned as he took the glass. "I daresay you're right, sir," he said after a moment. "And the wind is with us."

"Bring her about," Norrington ordered. The deck of the Dauntless hummed to life, and Norrington felt the first flush of battle-readiness as he watched the white spot on the horizon grow.

The sloop tried to tack when she saw them, tried in vain to beat the wind. But in the end it wasn't speed that won the battle, it was a long-range barrage from the Dauntless' cannons that ripped the other ship's rigging to shreds. By the time they caught her and Norrington stepped onto the deck after the boarding party, he was facing a small group of terrified men who seemed to be angrier at each other than at the Royal Navy for ruining them.

"Your captain?" he asked.

The other pirates pushed the man forward, and he sighed as he handed over his cutlass. "Captain Henning, of the Peregrine," he said.

Norrington smiled grimly as he accepted the man's sword, then ordered, "Gilette, take these men to the brig; Mr. Stevens, get a prize crew together and clear up this mess."

"Aye-aye, _sir!_" Stevens answered eagerly, nearly skipping in his eagerness. Norrington suppressed a chuckle and headed back to the Dauntless to supervise from there. The crew was elated; _he_ was elated, he was surprised to discover. It wasn't the Pearl, no, it wasn't the intended object of their mission, but it was another pirate that wouldn't be targeting innocent vessels. And it was good to just _win._

The euphoria carried him back to his cabin that evening, where he lay awake and for a moment wished that Andrew hadn't gone and fallen in love with Theodore, because he'd really enjoy celebrating something like this, taking Andrew or someone else amenable and tying them down and--

James sat up, suddenly, clenching his sheets as though the rocking of the ship was going to throw him clear. He wanted--he _wanted_ to have Andrew back under his control--or someone, to be honest, Andrew because he knew and liked him--but he _wanted_ that. Desired it.

Taking a deep breath, he lay back and closed his eyes. His hand stole over to his growing arousal, and he started stroking himself, letting the fantasy coalesce in his mind. Andrew on his knees, hands bound behind him with his belt, hair just starting to come askew--oh, yes. And then, with a sudden slip sideways, the image turned into Sparrow, kneeling naked with his arms bound, mouth slack with lust. James gasped and licked his lips, wrist moving faster, imagining Jack's mouth closing around his cock, tentative licks from his tongue, a plaintive whine as James threaded his fingers through his hair and pulled--

The sudden rush of pleasure shocked him, flashed like sparks to tinder, leaving him bathed in the warm glow of satisfaction and release. For a while afterward he left his eyes closed and drifted with the sleepy motion of the ship, trailing his fingertips over nerves tingling with alertness and enjoying the cool air on his skin. When he had recovered enough to search for something to clean off with, he was nearly grinning with relief. _Normal. I'm back to normal._

Back to feeling in control, back to _wanting_ that control. He laughed at himself and lay back down, feeling warm and settled. Whatever Sparrow had done to him, it hadn't removed that essential part of his nature.

Though... he examined the flesh on the inside of his wrist, rubbed at the remaining telltale redness. Though.

He had to be honest with himself. He'd enjoyed himself, that night, with Sparrow. Or, more honestly, he'd been struck nearly deaf, dumb and blind with pleasure. There was some part of him that wanted to wallow in that feeling, to give in and let himself be completely used, by Jack or by--

And now _that_ thought had him sitting up in a cold sweat.

The reminder of what had happened the last time he'd dared hope made him strangle his initial elation. If what was keeping Elizabeth from accepting his proposal was her feeling that she was meant to dominate rather than to submit, and if he would feel fine--happy, even--to submit to _her_ will, then perhaps... perhaps?

God. If it were only that simple. If Elizabeth hadn't been oversimplifying her case to spare his feelings. If she was willing to have two men to submit to her--some men weren't. If she could, eventually, come to love him even a fraction of how he loved her--

And, oh God, if Will didn't object to the entire affair entirely, which was something he hadn't even considered until now.

Hope, however slim. James lay back and stared at the shadows above his bed. They would reach Port Royal soon enough, and one way or another, answers.

* * *

James dispatched a runner to the fort as soon as they made port; went himself as soon as they'd finished offloading the prisoners and had them safely under guard on shore. His report was already written and copied; he was affixing his seal when Governor Swann appeared in person at his office door.

"Governor." He held up the report he'd meant to have a boy bring over. "This is an unexpected honor."

Swann waved off the courtesies and shook his hand, only then accepting the paperwork. "It's good to see you home safe again. I... take it then you had no success in locating the Black Pearl?"

Norrington had to force himself not to wince. Visibly. "We--I spotted Sparrow once, in port, but we had no sign of his ship," he said smoothly. "So no success there, though we did capture quite a different pirate vessel on our way home, almost by accident."

"Fortune smiled in forgiveness, then," Swann offered. "Come to supper tonight? Elizabeth has been anxiously awaiting your return."

Hope, suddenly, and fear, at the thought of speaking to her, and what he might be risking. "Thank you," he replied, voice completely even. "I look forward to it."

Dinner at the governor's meant finishing all the thousands of details of bringing a warship back into port, believing Groves and Gilette when they reassured him they could finish the work without him, going to his home and attending to neglected personal hygiene, dressing precisely, and forcing down a full measure of panic. Governor Swann sent a coach to transport him; he arrived in good order with his heart in his throat.

Elizabeth was waiting in the front hall. He looked up and saw her when he stepped inside and for a moment it was all too much; he couldn't move, couldn't speak.

"James," she said, stepping into the light.

"Elizabeth." He took her hand, groped for words. "You look lovely."

"You always say that," she said, smiling.

"It's always true," he replied, starting to smile back.

Her expression faltered. "James, I--"

"We should talk," he said quickly. "I--we should talk."

She was going to reply, but her father appeared and they were ushered in to dine. James barely noticed the meal; he must have given an account of his actions during the voyage, but afterward couldn't remember a word he said.

Governor Swann smiled somewhat worriedly and made some comment about giving them space to talk. James offered Elizabeth his arm, led her out into the garden and the fading light of day, the wind off the sea.

They stood for a moment, watching the clouds drift across the misty blue, as James tried to imagine a way to begin and Elizabeth wrestled with her own thoughts.

"I've been trying to think of a solution," she finally said. "And I haven't one."

He nodded, threaded his fingers together behind him. "Elizabeth," he said cautiously, "there's something I must ask you."

She turned, nodded cautiously. James took a breath. "I know that you love Mr. Turner," he said.

"Yes."

"And he you." It felt like admitting defeat. "But... Elizabeth, men of... of your character get married, keep an eromenos, have several loves--"

"James, I don't want to hurt you," she said despairingly.

"Do you mean that?" he said, voice rushed, turning to fully face her. "If it were at all possible--"

She closed her eyes, turned her face away. "James, you could not do the things I would want of you," she said. "It's impossible. And I couldn't bear to be cold to you, to ignore you as a wife and use you for my own security. Better to do that to a stranger than to someone... someone I respect, and admire."

Barely daring to breathe, he reached out and lifted her chin, drawing her gaze up to his. "And what would you have of me?" he said softly.

She stared for a moment before raising her eyebrows, considering.

He shifted his hand so it rested against her cheek. "Tell me," he said, "and I'll do it."

Now her eyes widened in surprise. "James--"

"For you--" and he faltered, then reached for her hands, faintly surprised that his own were steady. "If you could find it in your heart to care for me, Elizabeth, for you I'd do anything."

"James, you don't know what--"

"Then tell me," he said, stronger now. He looked around, then led her down the steps, away from the house; among the well-kept paths and trellises there was a bench facing the sea. She kept stealing glances at his face as they sat down, her fingertips tracing the contours of his hands.

Finally she met his eyes and said, "I'd want to tie you to our bed."

"Face-up or face-down?" he asked immediately.

Her expression was hesitant. "Face-up," she said firmly, "Spread-eagled."

"You'll have to learn knot-tying," he said.

"I understand you can torment someone marvelously with a feather," she said, somewhat archly.

"And you can always switch to the quill end," he agreed. At her widened eyes, he drew her hands to his collarbone, pressed her fingertips to his throat. "Here," he said, "gently..."

She traced her fingers down his shirtfront, under his coat; he gasped softly when she reached his nipples, and she stopped, then ran one finger slowly down the line of buttons. "You must be remarkably pale under this," she said.

He smiled. "Privilege of gentlemen."

"I trust you own a cane," she said, and now _she_ was breathless, and he answered, "I trust you can _use_ one," to which she retorted "I can _learn,_" and he countered, "I can _teach_ you; you can practice on Will and then use it on _me--_"

Her hands flew to either side of his face, and then she was kissing him, and the taste of her mouth was honey and ambrosia and freedom and everlasting bliss.

"Who knew you were so transgressive under that uniform, commodore?" she asked against his mouth.

He kissed her again, because she let him. "You bring it out," he said.

She drew back after a moment, studied his face. "You're not joking about this," she said wonderingly.

"Never."

She sighed in relief, smiling. "Oh, good. Will is going to be so relieved." At his surprised look, she said, "He was worried about me--us. He thought we should just take advantage of your generosity."

He smiled wryly, understanding completely. "This will be a complication, though. Between you. I should speak to him."

"He likes you," she said, surprising him.

"Really? The only times we've spoken recently we've very nearly come to blows." James frowned. "Over you, come to think of it. I'm not sure this will help."

"He likes you," Elizabeth repeated. She brushed his lips with her fingers, and smiled. "Trust me."

* * *

Turner was putting the finishing touches on a sword when James stepped into the smith's shop; he looked up warily and set the blade and sharpening stone aside. "Commodore. Welcome back. How was your voyage?"

"Mostly uneventful," he said. He couldn't help smirking as he said, "You would have heard, I trust, if we'd actually encountered the Black Pearl."

Will smiled wryly, then turned and picked up a rag to wipe his hands clean. "What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to speak to you," James said carefully, "about my proposal. To Elizabeth." He frowned, suddenly caught by a thought, looked around. "Where is Master Brown, by the way?"

Will shrugged, tilted his head back toward the stairs. "He's... asleep."

"Ah." Hung over. "Well. I trust Elizabeth has told you..."

Will nodded, hesitantly.

James took a breath, tried, "Will, I don't want to bring you into an arrangement you find distasteful."

Now Will was smirking. "I've suffered far worse for her," he said.

Well. _This_ was going nowhere. Will turned to straighten his tools, and James once again caught sight of the new sword on the bench.

"You know, I've never seen you fight," he said, almost before he'd thought of it. Will turned around, eyebrow raised, as he continued, "Elizabeth says you're quite good."

"Practice makes perfect," Will said.

James nodded, then tried to sound casual as he asked, "Care to practice?"

Will stared for a moment, startled, then grinned. "You're overdressed," he said, as he picked up the sword and gave a few practice passes before laying it aside.

"Easily remedied." He found a not-too-dusty table and lay down his coat, and hat; after a moment, doffed his wig as well. Will was waiting with a pair of practice blades when he was done, watching him speculatively. James took the offered sword and tried it; it felt like Turner's work, still, precisely balanced and a good weight in his hand. Will smiled without speaking and took up position a few paces away.

They started slowly enough. Thrust and parry, riposte and retreat. James started circling, counterclockwise; Will followed gracefully and aimed another cut at his wrist. Parry-riposte-slash, and James was back another step.

He looked up to watch Will watching him, eyes narrowed. Will feinted; James let it slide, stepped sideways again.

_If I go through with this,_ he forced himself to think, _this man is going to be touching my wife._

James stepped forward and ran the edge of his sword along Will's; the hiss of contact hummed through his wrist and up to his shoulder.

_Jealous, James?_

Will aimed a swift cut at his shoulder; James judged the distance in time to lean slightly aside and press his advantage, driving Will back a pace.

Will's style was graceful; not at all rough around the edges as James had half-expected. James had learned proper technique, of course, but he'd also had to improvise much of his training in the heat of battle. Will shrugged off the cheats James threw at him with textbook precision and ease.

Sweat was trickling down his spine. Will was glowing with exertion. James parried and circled, feinted, feinted, cut at a shoulder that wasn't there.

_Maybe frightened is a better word--of this competition._

Will stepped back and then slithered under his guard, bringing their blades together with a crash, and then with a twist James' sword was out of his hand, on the floor, and Will was inches away, breathing hard, grinning.

"You _are_ good," he said, short of breath himself.

Will nodded and said, "So are you," then lunged forward and kissed him.

And for a moment, all he could think or experience was _Good--good!_ as Will's hands came around his neck and he reached around to grab Will's absolutely _perfect_ arse and just enjoyed the sensation of Will Turner melting against him, but after a second of due consideration he was swept with relief so potent it made him pull back to breathe. Will looked up at him, then gasped in shock and started to struggle away. "I'm sorry, I--"

James tightened his grip. "I'm hardly objecting."

Will smiled, hesitantly, stopped fighting. "I don't know what came over me," he said softly. His calloused fingers traced the back of James' neck, and he tilted his chin up for another kiss.

It was during their second embrace that it happened, somehow. Will's fingers slid from James' neck to run along his jaw, and he was pressing forward, nipping at James' lower lip, clenching fingers around the collar of his shirt. And this time James realized the slip of the mind he was feeling, the weakness in his knees, and he even recognized the noise he made in the back of his throat just a moment too late to stop it.

Will jerked back at the sound, and now he was truly frightened, pulling free of James' grasp before he could say anything. "I--" Will stammered, then stopped, aghast.

James reached out and grabbed his wrist before he could move further away. "You do take liberties, don't you," he said calmly.

Will finally tore his eyes away, shook his head and stared resolutely at the floor. "I don't know what came over me," he said.

"I am still," James said carefully, "not objecting."

It took a moment to sink in, before Will looked up at him, askance. "You..."

"Wouldn't mind," James said. "Once in a while."

Amazement spread across Will's face, and then he stepped closer, hesitantly, brushing his lips against James' once before curling against his chest, trembling like a young hawk about to fly. James stroked his hair, then asked, "Have you always wanted--"

Will laughed, strangled slightly. "Just... occasionally," he said. "At first I thought there was something wrong with me. Then I wondered if it was something that men like me always wanted, but lacked competence for."

"Competence can be taught," James said. "It's the desire that's usually lacking." He ran his fingers through Will's hair, then shook his head and reluctantly let him go. "And unless we are to do something incredibly shameful right here in your shop--"

"I do have a room," Will said, smirking.

Tempting. Very. James bit his lip and shook his head. "We both have work to do."

"You can't blame me for trying," Will said, smiling. James laughed, then turned and started putting his uniform back to rights. Will moved in comfortable silence behind him, retrieving the fallen swords and putting them away.

"There is..." Will said, breaking the quiet. James turned to look at him as he sighed. "There is one matter that is going to come between us sooner or later." At James' querying look, he clarified, "Captain Jack Sparrow."

He could have laughed. It would have given Will the wrong idea, though. After a moment of thought he said, "Let's just say that my attitude toward... "Captain" Sparrow has mellowed, of late." He smiled wryly and settled his hat on his head. "Though don't let him know that, if you happen to see him."

Will was eying him dubiously. "You're still bound to see him hang."

"If I catch him," James pointed out.

That got Will to smile. "True."

He clapped Will on the shoulder, then said, "Be optimistic? We're all getting married, you and Elizabeth get to live happily ever after, and I... I get the both of you, for a wonder." He hesitated on the last, was for a moment still terrified until he saw Will's smile. James patted him again, then turned to go.

"James?" Will said. When he turned around, Will had his hands spread, serious and gentle. "Thank you."

"You're a remarkable man, William Turner," James replied. "Thank you."

* * *

James and Will escaped the crowd at the reception first, ducking back inside James' house and leaving Elizabeth to finish sending people home. The stairs were a problem. They kept stopping every few steps and trying to remove each others' clothes. But finally they tumbled into James' bed, rolling over each other until Will wound up on top, fists full of James' shirt.

"You meant it?" Will asked, out of breath.

James nodded, then said cautiously, "I don't actually want to choke to death."

"No worries," Will said, grinning. He pulled James' hands to the buckles at the back of his neck. "Here..."

James' fingers had fumbled enough when he'd fastened the damn thing; now he was taking it off blind, backward, aching with desire and every few seconds pulling Will close for another kiss.

When he finally got the buckles free, Will snatched the collar from his hands, then pushed him back down onto the bed. "Turn over," he said, then pulled back so James could do just that.

The leather slipped around his throat, and James' breath caught. He felt every tug as Will adjusted the tension on the leather, swallowed hard and felt Will rub his thumb at the hollow of his throat. "Good?" Will asked.

"Good," he said, breathless.

"Don't move," Will said. It was nearly impossible to lie motionless as Will pulled the rest of his clothes off, but he managed, trembling, until Will retrieved the small vial of oil on the nightstand, pressed slick fingers against him.

He moaned when Will finally pushed into him, turned it into a whimper when Will bit him on the shoulder--sharp pain! His head was reeling, and he was just giving in, letting go. Will dug fingers into his hip and then reached up and just tugged, gently, on the collar around his throat--and it was like being pulled over a cliff, down into a world where everything was brilliant and flooded with light.

None of them knew--none of the sly, snickering socialites--not one of them knew what this felt like. None of them would guess that he'd given himself up to this, that he actually wanted--wanted--

He must have cried out, shocked suddenly over the edge, burning with shame and desire and incredible, incomparable joy. He felt Will grinding against him a moment later, choking out his own pleasure into James' spine; James closed his eyes and breathed with him, reaching back to grab his hand.

His next conscious thought was of Will curled up naked on his back, and Elizabeth clearing her throat in the doorway. He looked up at her and grinned sheepishly.

"No, don't move," she said. "Let me get this damned corset off and I'll join you."

Will shifted his head and said, "I think you look nice in it."

"Ha," Elizabeth said. "You try wearing it, then." She paused in her unlacing for a moment, then said thoughtfully, "Actually..."

James craned his neck around. Will was looking puzzled. Helpfully, he sat up and pinned Will's hands behind his back. "Good idea," he said.

"What?" Will said, struggling reflexively. James tightened his grip.

Elizabeth slipped her dress off and tossed it on the bed, then started working on the corset. "Come here, Will."

"I--" James wasn't letting go of his hands, so there was some negotiating to do leaving the bed; by the time they were both standing Elizabeth had the corset off, dangling by the strings from the fingers of her right hand.

She was beautiful, standing in her shift with her hair still pinned up in intricate coils and a growing look of desire and wonder on her face as she took in Will's naked form. Hesitantly at first she ran her hand up his chest, then stepped forward and kissed him, her free hand tangled in his hair. James squeezed Will's wrists warningly when he tried to break away, amazed at the calm he felt, the warm center where he always assumed his fear would be.

When Elizabeth pulled away, she tilted her head to look at James and said, "_I_ wasn't allowed to do that in front of the entirety of Port Royal society."

"Sorry," he said, smiling. "I didn't make the rules."

She reached up, looped her fingers under the collar. "We'll have to get you something," she said thoughtfully. "Something subtle." At his startled noise, she smiled, then tugged his face close for a kiss.

Will was trembling when they parted. "Don't worry," Elizabeth said, holding up the corset. "We haven't forgotten you."

"Good?" Will said, looking a bit lost as James raised his arms and Elizabeth slid the fabric onto his frame. "I think..."

"It'll look better once the dress is on over it," Elizabeth said, tugging at the stays and then moving to start tightening the laces.

"Wait a minute," Will said, then grunted as Elizabeth gave the laces a yank. "Why do I have to wear your dress?"

"Don't be silly, it'd never fit James," she said. "And it's unfair that this closes farther on you than it does on me."

Will looked up to him for support and James shrugged, helpless.

They wrestled the layers of skirts over Will's head, pulled the fabric over him like folding a butterfly back into a cocoon. Elizabeth gave the bodice a few quick adjustments, then fastened up the back. "There," she said. "Now let me get a look at you."

"I feel a bit silly," Will said, brushing at his skirt.

James stepped around so he could see; at his side, Elizabeth took a breath and smiled. "You look lovely," she said softly.

Will pressed at the cream-colored fabric which hugged his ribs. Elizabeth's ministrations gave him a narrower waist than usual, and the skirts swept out from his hips like petals. And when he took a few cautious steps, the awkward, coltish movements swept up in the feminine grace of the outfit and made him look terribly vulnerable--beautiful.

"Beautiful," James said aloud, and Elizabeth nodded agreement.

Will smiled hesitantly. "Do you really think?"

"Yes," Elizabeth said enthusiastically. "God, I hardly know what to do with you."

James looked over at her and couldn't help smiling. "Might I offer a few suggestions?" She looked up, surprised, and he pressed a kiss into the side of her neck. "Go lie down?"

She nodded, and lay back on the rumpled sheets; James caught Will's hands behind his back again and pushed him down until he was kneeling between Elizabeth's legs.

Elizabeth's breath hitched as she drew the hem of her shift up, over her legs, finally revealing the valley between her thighs. Will gasped and leaned forward, and James wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him. "No, you don't get your hands," he said, pressing firmly on Will's crossed wrists. "Taste."

Will shivered and ducked his head, and Elizabeth moaned, softly, then reached a hand up and pushed her fingers firmly through his hair.

James kept his grip on Will, carefully counterbalancing him, and watched Elizabeth as her face flushed, her lips parted. As she threw her head back and lost herself in pleasure, sobs escaping her throat and hands clenching in Will's hair. She was beautiful--absolutely beautiful.

And afterward, they worked together to peel Will out of the dress, and then tangled themselves in the bedsheets, kissing and nuzzling and fitting together like pieces of a puzzle, and there had never been a luckier man in the world.

* * *

Someone was sneaking into his room.

James opened one eye, just far enough that he could be certain of the intruder's identity. Then he affected an attitude of sleep again and waited.

When the sneak had reached his bedside and was leaning over his bedside table, James sprung. He caught the man completely by surprise, spun him around, and pinned him to the bed.

"Uh, goodness," Sparrow said, blinking up at him.

"Jack Sparrow," James purred. "You missed my wedding."

Jack blinked a few times, twitched his mustache. "Er. Unavoidably detained. Meant to make it and missed."

"Hmmm." James looked around, then grabbed a piece of rope he'd left tied to the headboard and secured Jack's wrists above his head. "Hold still a moment."

Jack squinted up at him. "You're wearing a collar."

So he was; he'd almost forgotten. "And?"

There was movement on the other side of the bed; Elizabeth raised her head in the dim light and blinked. "James, what--" She caught sight of Jack, squeaked and pulled a sheet over her breasts. "Jack! What are you _doing_ here?"

Jack shrugged, as well as he could. "Well I was meaning to congratulate you on your nuptials and leave behind your wedding present, but I got tied up."

James snorted, and leaned over to retrieve the small packet of papers from the drawer in his nightstand. Will made a confused noise as Elizabeth shook his shoulder, then grunted in confusion. "Jack! What--"

"I caught a pirate," James said. He dropped the packet onto Jack's chest. "Well. Mostly."

"Mostly?" Will said, nervously.

"What's this?" Jack said, curiously.

"Letters of marque," James said, helpfully.

Elizabeth stared at him. Jack craned his neck down at the letters and said cautiously, "I'm not sure that's the solution you think it is, mate."

"Oh, yes," James said, sitting down next to him. "A temporary salve to my conscience for not seeing you hang." He caught Jack's gaze, leaned forward until their faces were inches apart, and said, "I don't want to have to kill you."

"That's a refreshing change of pace," Jack said, then leaned forward and kissed him.

Elizabeth made a startled "Oh." Will made a far more considering "Ahhh."

When James pulled away, Jack was grinning. "I'll take a look at those terms, then, mate," he said.

"Good," James said.

After a moment, Jack wriggled his fingers and said, "Er, I'm going to need my hands if I'm going to sign those."

"That's right, and they're not valid unless signed." James hummed, then said, "I suppose that means I've still caught a pirate, then."

Elizabeth laughed at Jack's stricken expression. "Oh, good," she said. "I'd hate for you to have captured him needlessly."

"Oh, bugger," Jack muttered as James bent down to kiss his throat. "I suppose this means I'll have to come visit more often, won't I?"

"You'd better," Will said. He grinned as Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the head. "Or we'll let him leave you tied up."

James chuckled. Jack grinned up at him, then murmured quietly, "No more worries about this then, mate?"

"No more," James said. Then he wrapped his arms around his pirate, and refused to believe he'd have to let go.


End file.
